


Light 'em up

by cryogenia



Series: Keep a light on for me [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: D/s scene, Dirty Talk, Edging, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post CA:TWS, Prostate Milking, Sex Toys, Stone Top, Top Bucky Barnes, aou compliant but not required, not to be confused with edgeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 07:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4254027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryogenia/pseuds/cryogenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some couples go to football matches or roleplay night or minigolf. Steve likes to play a different game.</p><p>He's got six left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light 'em up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JackTrades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackTrades/gifts).



> Getting it in under the wire! :) This was written as part of the Stucky d/s exchange 2015, "Summer Lovin". Specific prompts were enthusiastic consent, sex toys, dirty talk, orgasm, aftercare, pwp okay. Hopefully I hit at least the majority of these notes. (Definitely the PWP - let's be real, this is basically 100% unadultered porn. Because sex in the future is totally awesome.)
> 
> Spoiler notes at the end, in case anyone wants more detail information.

The doorbell doesn’t chime when he walks into the bodega, though the doors still open with a pneumatic hiss.  It winds up and misfires with an muffled click, soft enough most wouldn’t notice over the hum of the fridges. Mae looks up from her till anyway and wedges her phone into her back pocket.

“Hey, my friend!” she says. “How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain. It’s Friday,” Bucky says, same as always, but Mae’s glossy smile still widens like it’s news. She’s a squat middle-aged woman scarcely up to his chest, shaped like a barrel and favoring a scarred knee, but everyone is ‘my friend’ and she never frowns, even on a weekend shift. He’s never seen her without a big tropical flower tucked behind her ear. He wonders sometimes if she grows them herself, or buys a new one special every single day.

Bucky ducks his head to the register camera and leans just-so behind the jerky display.

“What can I do for you?”

“Need a prepay.”  

“You got it.” Mae takes off her lanyard in search of a little cylindrical key. She keeps the phone cards locked behind the counter, along with the razors and the condoms and the cold meds and half of the rest of the store. “How much?”

He peels off a couple twenties from the roll in his hoodie pocket and plunks them on the counter.

“Pay day?”

“You know it.”

Mae grunts and shoves her short arm in the case up to her shoulder, scrabbling for her target. His left hand makes an embarrassing sympathetic click beneath his work gloves. Mae glances toward the door instead.

“Any big plans for the weekend?” she asks, swapping his cash for a tiny little plastic card.

“Got a guest coming in from out of town,” Bucky says. He scratches off the grey bar on the back with the edge of a metal finger. Even through his work gloves, it’s nearly enough to scrape off the code along with the privacy strip.

“That’s nice,” Mae tells him. “You gonna take ‘em to the Stark Park?”

Meaning: somewhere nice. Meaning: somewhere not here. An agent would not blow their cover asking something obvious.

Bucky takes a medium-length, very controlled breath.

“He grew up here,” he says. “He’s seen all the tourist shit.”

Mae smiles at his use of language. She grew up on Lanai, she told him once. She's everybody's friend, but no friend of tourists.

“Well you can take him somewhere good, then. He like roti?  There’s a Trini place round the Union Allied building.”

“I don’t know if we’ve ever had raw tea,” he says. “Thanks. We’ll put it on the list.”

“Any time.” Mae digs out her phone as soon as he does, either giving lie to “my friend” or reinforcing it. He’s still not sure when it’s rude to text in front of people.

Bucky bites the tip of his right glove and tugs it off so he can unlock his phone. He holds the camera up to scan the recharge code and the tiny cross-out logo gives way to four bars. A flurry of text messages scroll across the top of the screen, all from the same, likely burner number.

_ <Sorry, got caught up at the hotel. Give me 15> _

_< omw>_

_< Hey, I’m downstairs.>_

_< You get my message?>_

_< Nm, Josie let me in>_

_< At your place now>_

_< Where are you??>_

He swipes away the out-of-date messages and peels into the candy aisle before responding.

_[At the corner store sorry my phone died.]_

_[You want a Fanta?  Payday]_

There’s a button he can press to choose from a row of faces, all different expressions and colors and occasionally, cats. He picks the one that has big shining eyes and a playful tongue sticking out, followed by two sacks with dollar signs and an awkward blob that’s supposed to be a stack of bills. The pictures aren’t exactly high art, but it’s nice to have something besides his own drivel. Sometimes he wishes he could pick real expressions this easy.

Steve doesn’t send back the tiny drink cup or the stack of winged bills flying out of a wallet. His phone sits silent for nearly a minute and then, one line blinks.

_< can I send you a picture>_

A shiver lances down the backs of both legs and he curls his phone against his chest. Breathe in. Breathe out. A glance at the counter confirms Mae is glued at her own screen, flicking her fingers in the patterns of a match-three. Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and slinks off to the cold beverage section, right next to the exhaust of the aging ice cream bin. When his heart rate rises it feels like the whole world can hear his arm calibrate, and he can’t fight the instinct for cover.

_[You’re gonna owe me if you started w/o me]_

_ <I know> _

_< please>_

_[okay]_

The picture comes through as an attachment and a size warning, like he could give a good goddamn about the data use right now. Bucky taps through okaying it before the thumbnail even loads, and then Steve is -- oh Christ.

They never take pictures of their faces but Steve’s body is unmistakable, sprawled out on a familiar mattress, heels braced up against the wall. Everything about the pose suggests struggle, movement. The v of his abs swoops down into a low slung pair of sweats and his shirt has ridden up halfway to his nipples; the hand that isn’t holding the camera is twisted desperately into the balled up sheets. His pecs are so tight that ‘Quality Movers, L.L.C’, is barely legible across his chest.

Bucky opens the nearest fridge door and sticks his entire arm inside, whirring and whirring and whirring.

_[you owe me six, that’s my work shirt]_

_ <It’s been a long day> _

_[seven]_

Bucky leans his entire body into a rack of Cokes and focuses on his breathing, on the reflection of Mae in the glass door. Steve wearing his clothes does things to him he cannot define and there is nothing he wants more than to go and pull them off. But.

He pulls out three random Fantas and a couple of waters and stacks them in the crook of his overheating arm.

 _[I got a few more errands],_ he tells Steve. _[So here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to get cleaned up for me. Then I want you to get started. anyway you can, but I want you to save the last three for me.]_

_ <oh god> _

_[You started it]_

_< do you want me to count>_

Mae’s looking up from her game, possibly ready to offer a basket. He nudges the door shut and turns around very slowly.

_[Yes. Keep me updated.]_

_[I want you to get yourself so close but don’t come]_

_[If you fuck up. You don’t come til August]_

Then he pops his phone back into his pocket before Steve can respond. Before he’s tempted to beg for a picture of Steve’s face.

“You need a bag?” Mae asks when he comes back to the counter.

“Sure,” Bucky says, easy as anything. He pays for his drinks and pops outside, and he absolutely isn’t going to check his phone every five seconds. Not at all.

He walks halfway to the Scar before he realizes he has no idea what the fuck they’re going to need. He forgets sometimes what he’s tried and liked, so Steve set him up with his own little black book. Steve doesn’t use them because he draws his own things, but there’s sheets of stickers in the front with all different kinds of organize-y icons. Bucky flicks to the page marked with the biggest green light and writes down “Steve wearing my clothes”, then looks for the section all about takeout. It’s a pain in the ass that he can’t just Google it, but in a weird way it’s nice that life is tangible. When he has a bad day, when he has to ditch this burner, he’ll still have stupid gold foil stars.

The place he’s given the most stars is a Vietnamese kiosk up on 54th, a little hole in the wall barely big enough for three tables. They make the meatballs-on-a-stick that both he and Steve like, and he could eat his weight in translucent egg rolls. He cuts through the edge of a construction zone and picks his way northeast through the alleys, shoulders rounded, head tucked. Fast pace. Suspicious people wear hoodies and linger in alleys; working stiffs beat the pavement to get home quick. His phone buzzes in his pocket, making a faint noise against his gloved hand.

_< god I missed you>_

_[Get a real job then]_ , he teases back. Yellow winking smiley face. 

_[is it good?]_

_ <it’s so good> _

_[Got a present for you. To help you with the ones you owe me.]_

_< oh fuck yes>_

_[You want me to tell you now?  Or do you want it to be a surprise?]_

_< surprise>_

And then, not ten seconds later, another message buzzes.

_ <one> _

Christ.

He closes his eyes to the street for one moment, lost in the thrum of traffic. Stuck on that image of Steve on the other end of the screen, those long fingers around his dick. ‘One’ for the orgasm Steve didn’t have, though by the time Bucky gets home, Steve will almost certainly beg.

_[You like me surprising you? You want me to come up behind and just pin you down?]_

He knows what Steve’s face is like when he’s determined, those big, padded lips set in a hard line. Steve makes the most beautiful noises when he’s tackled, grinds back against the mattress until even his muscles creak.

_ <yes> _

_[If you’re good. You got three left.]_

His fingers are sweating all over the screen, leaving awkward streaks in the pattern of his words. He buffs them off against his chest.

The Green Leaf is deserted when he rolls up to the counter, somewhere between lunch rush and dinner. If there’s ever a dinner crowd. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen it where there’s more than one person in the dining area, unless he’s blanking the busy days. Crowds blur together sometimes, Novosibirsk same as Five Points same as every smear on the planet. He doesn’t think they’d want to eat here if it were full. Steve would knock his chair over six times trying to get up without smacking the next table.

An elderly woman peers over the counter at him. Thick cataracts, phlegmatic breathing, favoring the left hip. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and points to the pictures on the laminated menu.

“Two number fives, double meat?”

The lady turns to yell something through the order window. His phone shakes again.

_ <I’m always good> _

_[Bullshit]_

_< Good on my knees>_

Bucky makes it through the rest of the transaction, though he’s not sure how. The nice lady is asking him about spring rolls and all the while Steve is still texting him. He can see the light blink on the edge of his phone.

Steve has no idea he’s ordering food, that he’s two steps away from a woman who might see his screen. Maybe Steve’s on his knees right now. Maybe Steve’s face down in Bucky’s bed, ass lifted up, begging for someone to come fuck him.

He receives a superfluous order number and takes point in the chair closest to the wall.

_ <You want me on my knees?> _

_< I could be there when you walk in>_

_< Open the door and I’m right there>_

_< Ready for you>_

_< Two>_

The old lady is somewhere in the kitchen, chattering at the cook. He checks all of his sight lines (clear) and his angle to the door (clear) and then takes the fastest, blurriest photo of his own spread legs as possible.

  _[On your knees here]_

_[Attachment: 1467307059.jpg]_

The answer comes in a flurry of messages, barely a second in between them. He can hear Steve’s gasps between each line, the way he must be squirming on the sheets.  

  _< please>_

_< I’ll make it so good>_

_< Anything you want>_

_< Three>_

Bucky breathes in deep, tastes fish sauce and smoke and the tang of his own sweat, and taps out what Steve needs to hear.  

  _[You got one left. Use it up and you’re going to have to wait.]_

_ <I’m right there>_

_[Don’t you dare come]_

_ <I won’t>_

Unsteady footsteps toddle back toward him and he takes another breath, makes his lips turn up. The old lady sets down a double-bagged stack of Styrofoam and calls out seventy-three. Four, he continues in his head. In Steve’s voice, scratchy and broken.

 The takeout sack loops onto his left arm after momentary confusion rearranging bags. The weapon doesn’t feel things as intensely as the right one; he has a sense of proprioception, but steady light-weight pressure doesn’t register after a while. He slinks out onto the street and cuts back toward the Scar, no longer pretending like he wants to drag this out.

  _< Want to touch you>_

_[If you’re good]_

_[Can you do that?  Can you hold out for me?]_

_ <Oh god yes>_

_< Four>_

_[omw]_

He weaves around a form filled with wet concrete and makes for the finished side of Ninth. The new development has wider sidewalks and even pedestrian overpasses, easier to go when you’re moving at speed. Every day there’s a new mix, empty retail space popping up amidst the carcasses of hipster bars. None of the names are Irish enough.

 His own building is a historic eyesore, part office space, part fire trap. The bar on the first floor must have come through the Incident the way cockroaches do: head down, skitter out of sight; too disgusting to command attention for long. Bucky steps over a smear of something unmentionable and melts into the dark shared entryway, takes the back stairs two at a time.

_[Headed up]_

There are some memories that are always-true, like the smell of Luckys and wet boots and rain  He knocks once, pauses, then three taps in a row to let Steve know not to greet him with a bullet, that he is who he is and his position is uncompromised.

The answer knock is slow in coming, three shallow taps just above the keyhole. Bucky licks his lips.

“Hey,” Steve mumbles. He opens the door as if it takes effort. His eyes are glassy and puffy around the edges, like he’s been grinding his face hard against something. He’s also fully clothed, but it’s a near thing. Bucky’s pants are hanging so low on Steve’s hips that only sweat seems to be holding them on.

“Hey, yourself. You gonna let me in?”

Bucky waves the bags awkwardly between them until Steve finally stumbles back. He hears Steve throw the lock behind him the second he gets through.

“Gimme a sec,” Bucky warns. “I gotta put the food away.”

Not like it’s hard. His ‘efficiency studio’ is basically an office with a john and a shower in the closet; the ‘kitchen nook’ is a counter and a sink. His minifridge is one of the pillars that holds his eating table up. He makes a beeline to stash the takeout before he sets the sacks down and forgets they exist. Sometimes he loses things if he doesn’t stick to routine.

“How was the ride down?” he asks.

Steve makes the slightest of frustrated noises.

“Okay. Got pulled over.”

“Speeding?”

“Not wearing a helmet.”

"You’re a terrible fuckin’ role model,” Bucky agrees. He dumps his phone and keys and notebook into the blue bowl on the counter, and finally turns around to take pity.

“C’mere.”

Steve folds into his arms like all the strings have snapped at once. He slumps his big body down and hooks his strong chin over Bucky’s shoulder, like if he contorts himself hard enough he can match every inch of him to every inch of Bucky. Bucky presses his nose into the curve of Steve’s neck and tastes exhaust from his bike, clean sweat, the acrid tang of jizz.

“You get off?” he rasps.

Steve’s answer is a full body shudder.

“No,” he gasps.

“Good.”

Bucky bites at Steve’s ear to make him shiver again, all the way down to his antsy feet. Steve’s whole body is sticky with sweat, even with the fabric to wick it up.

“Got my shirt all dirty,” he says. He bites at the damp collar and rubs his lips just-so, right against the sensitive side of Steve’s neck. “You get close thinking about it?  Me walkin’ to work, smelling like you?”

“Fuck,” Steve whispers.

He runs his flesh hand down Steve’s back, kneads at every divot along Steve’s spine. Steve straightens up and blooms beneath his fingers, held fast by the power of Bucky’s arm.

“I want you up against the desk. On your toes.” His desk is another rescue from work, abandoned by an owner who didn’t want to bother moving it. Bucky’s got it tucked up in the corner by the door, not only so he can watch his exits but because he’s not entirely sure he trusts it to hold up.  “You break my desk, you don’t come for a week.”

Steve sways when he’s released but stays on his feet. He moves with the slightest hitch to his gait, like there’s a fault somewhere in his high gluts. Or inside.

“You got something in you?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods, open-mouthed. He bends forward and braces against the desk but gingerly. Too careful. Bucky steps in and catches him by the hair, hauls him up until he’s on the balls of his feet. Steve lights up like all the letters of a marquee, tip to tail, startled tears glittering at the corners of his eyes.

“You like that?”

“Yeah,” Steve groans.

“If I put my hands down your pants, I’m gonna find something?”

“You said to get ready!”

Bucky huffs and forces him down onto his elbows. Steve is a brat and he has to be Right; no point in gratifying that with a response. He plunges his bare hand down the back of Steve’s sweats to feel the tip of the toy poking out between his cheeks. It’s an unyielding metal handle, blood-warm and slick with lube. He knows it very, very well.

“You bring this all the way to the city for me? Yeah?  Couldn’t go one day without a dick up your ass?”

Steve makes a low, wrecked sound. His ass clenches every time Bucky so much as brushes the plug.

“Did you want me to catch you fucking yourself with this thing? You want me to watch?”

“You said--”

He yanks Steve’s sweats to his ankles in one fell swoop, sinks to his knees so he can bite the backs of each thigh. Steve yelps and goes up higher on his toes, all the way to the very tips as he dances. Bucky helps him step out of one leg at a time, touches the damp patch where Steve’s cock rubbed the fabric. There aren’t any undershorts at all.

“Or do you want me touching you?”

He bites and sucks heat into the meat of Steve’s hamstring, until there’s a ring just as round as his teeth.

“Tell me.”

“You.” It’s almost a whisper, but it’s there. There’s this part of Steve that just wants to be good for something, and Bucky can feel it unfurling into the palm of his hand. The trick is to get him to get him to admit it, when he’s so determined to survive happiness like anything else. Steve likes to play like the pleasure doesn’t get to him, and Bucky likes to push him until he howls, and maybe that’s close to what they were supposed to be.

“Good,” Bucky says, “You owe me three. And I’m gonna take ‘em, and then maybe we’ll see if you get to come tonight.”

Steve dances his legs apart like he’s first in a lineup. First against the wall for anything that comes; that is how Steve operates.

“Maybe we’ll see if I can make you scream.”

He hooks a finger through the loop in the toy’s handle and pulls it out in a long, slow glide. It’s a wicked piece of metal, flared to an enormous head. Steve’s shoulders quake as the thickest part works free with a wet pop. When he’s up on his toes he can’t curl them or kick his feet like he does on a bed.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps. Bucky taps his cheeks with the toy, sets it on the desk just out of Steve’s reach.

“Hang on,” he says, and makes for the improvised book shelf by his mattress. There’s a milk crate he keeps with a pack of towels in it, and a box of the nicer nitrile gloves. Steve draws in a sharp breath when he pulls off his work glove, works twice as hard at showing off his ass. His arm is whirring like a demon’s trapped inside, so he ditches his hoodie, too.

“Yes, c’mon,” Steve moans. He keeps peering over his shoulder trying to watch. Bucky swats a fading bruise.

“I said hang on.” It takes a minute to get a glove all the way on his metal hand. The plates that comprise the fingers are intricate but still prone to snagging; he winds up using two just to be sure nothing can catch. The flesh hand is less difficult, though it occurs he can’t remember where his right work glove ended up.

“I think you made me lose my good glove,” he tells Steve. “Texting me that shit. You know I was at the corner store?  Just trying to buy soda, and here you are, sending me pics.”

Bucky braces his right hand on the creaking table and shoves Steve’s legs even farther apart with his knee so he can dig two knuckles up just-so behind Steve’s balls. Steve jerks his hips the second Bucky finds it, slaps his swollen cock against the lip of the desk.

“Oh fuck!”

“You want me to give you one of the good ones, don’t you?” Bucky croons. “You show up early and steal my clothes and make me lose my glove cause you want me to fuck you stupid, yeah?  How long’s it been since I let you come?”

“Th-thirteen days.”

“You think about it?”

“All the goddamn time!”

Steve goes rigid all the way down his back, nostrils flaring. Bucky hums and bites the wing of one shoulder blade, right through the fabric of Steve’s rumpled shirt. He keeps up the slow, powerful press against Steve’s prostate until he feels Steve squeal.

“Maybe I won’t let you come,” he breathes. “Maybe you go back with this between your legs. Huh?”

He shifts to cup his right hand directly over Steve’s cock, palms all the way down to the tip. It’s a deep, aching red, slippery with both lube and precome. Steve’s cries slip down into a register that vibrates through Bucky’s teeth.

“Just think about riding your bike like this. Hard as nails with that motor going. Fuck, maybe I wanna see that. Maybe you ride back with these pants soaked in my come, and you get to have that engine between your legs.”

Steve whines and drums his fists against the desk, trying not to like it and failing with flying colors. Steve’s nose is as sensitive as his and Bucky knows what that would be like.

“Oh my god,” Steve yelps. Bucky digs his knuckles into Steve’s taint again, teases Steve’s cock at the exact same time, and Steve jumps halfway onto the desk trying to find something to hump.

“You okay?” It can’t be comfortable for Steve to mash his dick against the wood, but Steve doesn’t seem to care.

“Yes, yes, oh my god.”

“Are you close?”

“Almost - fuck -”

Bucky massages him harder, right over the spot that gets the loudest reactions, and reaches up with his other hand to grab a fistful of hair.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do,” he growls. “I’m gonna milk you dry. Gonna make it nice and long. But you touch your cock - even once - and you don’t come for the rest of this fuckin’ month. Okay?”

Steve’s reply is a drawn out groan, a few garbled vowels that could have been words.

“Steve?  You hear me?  I can’t do this if you’re compromised.”  

“I-it’s good. I can do it.”

“Good, you’re so good,” Bucky tells him, and Steve’s lips curl into the dorkiest smile.

“Fuck me?”

"Maybe. If you hold out long enough. You did start without me.”

"Couldn’t wait,” Steve complains.

"Now you’re gonna.”

And it’s going to be _good_. He has a whole page dedicated in his notebook to things he likes doing to Steve, and milking him until he shakes is at the top, triple-underscored, four gold star stickers. That line is permanently burned into his memory, he doesn’t think he could actually space it. Half his data plan goes to porn and he’s watched hundreds of blonde twinks who don’t look a fraction this pretty.

“Yes, yes, yes, I’m so close-”

He gives Steve one last hard jab and then lets him go entirely. Takes two steps back to watch him cuss.

“Son of a _bitch_!”

Count it.”

“Five, goddamn it!” Steve drops his head down between his shoulders, panting. “Your fingers, fuck...I need them in me.”

Bucky ignores it, lets him rail to the desk how unfair it is. Steve modulates his language around his enlisted but he has a blue streak a mile long. He runs his metal hand over the crest of Steve’s ass, up and down, until the corded muscles start to release.

“Take a load off,” he says after a few minutes and taps Steve’s straining calves. He helps him shift back off of his elbows, waits until he’s steady before he steps away.

There’s an unlabeled plastic bag in the far corner with his mattress. Steve’s tac gear is draped all over it, balled up in a pile like Steve wants it to wrinkle.

"You look in the bag?” he asks.

“No?” Steve is upright, but looks like he might be regretting it. His dick bounces with every step that he makes.

“Well, you don’t get to look now!  Get a drink or something.” Bucky waves irritably toward the minifridge. He’d planned to have more time to get Steve’s present ready, except then Steve himself decided to be a surprise. It’s a sleek, c-shaped toy made out of silicon, thicker than Bucky and articulated with a series of huge bumps, like Steve’s metal boy on steroids. He’d spent an entire afternoon reading reviews on his phone to find it; like hell he’s going to let Steve spoil himself now.

He digs through his milk crate for barriers. It probably takes a magnum to stretch all the way over the penetrating part. He drags all the Trojans and the nitrile gloves back to the bedside. The good lube is already out, he notes. 

“You ready?”

Bucky turns to look for his partner. Steve’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, mopping up the sweat on his brow...with the stretched edge of the shirt he’s wearing, which is already drenched. The armpits alone could fill a lake.

Bucky can’t help it, he laughs.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” It’s probably an inappropriate amount of laughter. He knows his face doesn’t always do the right things; he looks too intense or not intense enough. It’s okay that he’s grinning like a loon. He’s allowed to smile at Steve.

And he’s allowed to touch if he wants.

Bucky pads over and swats Steve on the hip.

“You like my shirt, huh?”

“More than Kevlar,” Steve snarks back.

"It’s too small for you. You’re gonna stretch it out.”

“Everything’s too small for me.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Steve has tits as sweet as any he’s ever seen, big rounded pecs with perky little nipples. He reaches up to grab a handful and squeezes - once with the right hand, then carefully, with the left. It literally wipes the smirk off Steve’s face.

“You like that?” Bucky says. “These big titties, bouncing around - has to hurt.”

Steve’s eyes have come over glassy again, but there’s still that stubborn spark. He sets his jaw.

“I can handle it.”

“Oh really.”

He rolls the t-shirt right up to Steve’s armpits and gets a face full of those glorious fucking tits. Steve’s nipples are twin points, flushed dark with arousal.  

“Pretty as your cock,” he growls, and seizes his teeth right around the base of one. Steve hands leaps toward his own groin, pauses just shy of grabbing his cock.

Bucky twirls his tongue over the hard nub the way Steve wishes he’d do to Steve’s cock, then lets him go.

“Good catch.” He pats Steve’s errant arm. “You touch yourself, you’re not coming for a month.”

“That’s entrapment,” Steve complains, but he’s smiling. “You’re too good at that.”

“What, this?”

Bucky bites him again, the same side but harder. Steve’s hands squabble desperately at his hips, fighting the urge to move.

“Get rid of this shit,” he says, pushing at the shirt. Steve yanks it off so fast Bucky thinks he hears the stitches pop.

“You’re gonna get your present now. You still want it to be a surprise?”

“Sure,” Steve says, though he sounds less cocky than he did a few seconds ago. His shoulders tip in like he thinks he can blend into the background. It occurs to Bucky that he’s still mostly clothed, and here Steve is, barefoot and naked.

His arm plates flare out and ventilate at random, whirring in time to the beat of his heart.

“On the bed, face the wall.” He licks his lips. “Want you on your hands and knees.”

Steve moves for once without any bitching, too curious, it seems, for any smartass remarks. He drops like a stone is tied to his dick and actually crawls the last few steps onto the mattress. The worn out springs creak alarmingly under his weight, but it mostly holds firm. Bucky kneels directly behind him, right in the blind spot where Steve can’t see

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Steve wiggles his ass until Bucky slaps it.

Bucky rolls a condom on and gets the toy so lubed up it’s dripping. Steve makes a face when it nudges his crack.

“It’s soft,” he complains. Bucky smacks his ass again, right on the crease of the thigh where it hurts more.

“Give it a minute.”

Steve huffs but his legs do start spreading apart the more Bucky presses the toy inside. It’s thicker than any cock Bucky’s seen outside of porn, designed to lay right against the prostate. When the first bead works almost all the way in, Steve’s belly dips like he means to drill his cock through the mattress.

“No,” Bucky huffs. He grabs Steve’s hip with his metal hand and lifts him back square. “Hang on, you’re not done yet.”

“Fuck that’s big,” Steve pants.

“It’s about to get bigger. Think you can handle it?” Bucky kneads at the small of Steve’s back, gauging the tension through his lower quarters. Steve’s taken a toy almost as big before, but the angle hadn’t been quite comfortable and he’d never gotten to where he started losing himself. Bucky’s given Steve a break today, now he wants to take Steve back up, work him until he doesn’t have words again. Maybe until he doesn’t have a name.

Steve draws in a breath deep, starting in his diaphragm. Visibly forces himself to relax.

“Bring it on.”

He continues pushing the toy in with slow, shallow thrusts. Each subsequent bead wrings a harder jerk from Steve’s body, until he’s actively drumming his fists against the mattress in the desperate attempt not to move.

“Almost there,” Bucky tells him. “You’re doing great.”

He gives one more press and Steve swears to high heaven as the tip drives all the way home. Pressed flush against his body like this, the external curve digs right up into Steve’s taint, the same spot Bucky had been massaging earlier. It’s like a clamp squeezing on the gland from both angles.

“God, where’d you find this?”

“The Village,” Bucky says. He doesn’t say how long it had taken him. He’d looked up every single product on his phone until the shop lady was ready to kick him out. “It’s supposed to get you two ways at once.”

“It does,” Steve whimpers. “Goddamn, it does.”

The marks he made earlier on Steve’s thighs have faded to almost nothing. He presses his lips to the faint pink of a hickey and renews it.

“The best part is,” he tells Steve between nips. “You can bounce on it.”

Steve cranes his head to the right, like he always does when he’s not sure what he’s hearing.

“That’s why it’s soft. So you can rock on it,” Bucky clarifies. “I want you sit up and gimme a show. Make those pretty tits of yours shake.”

He bites one more time right at the thickest part of Steve’s leg.

“And I’m gonna watch you,” he promises. “If I like what I see?  I’m gonna touch myself.”

Steve spins about so fast he gets his legs caught in the sheets, has to thrash and claw his way out. His expression is so fucking sincere it hurts.

“Please,” he says, like that’s the real present. Bucky swallows hard.  

“If you’re good,” Bucky says. “C’mon, show me what you got.”

Steve nods and shifts so his feet are hanging off the bed, heels bracing against the floor. He rocks his hips once, twice and groans. Bucky can actually watch his toes curl.

“Wanna ride you,” Steve rasps. “Just like this.”

He starts rocking harder, fluid, punishing strokes with his hips. Those big, trusting eyes fixate on Bucky’s face and he wants - Bucky’s not always sure what he wants, but he wants this for Steve. He wants to make it so good.

“Tell me what you’d do to me.” He shucks his t-shirt before he can think about it, tingling all the way down his spine. The arm’s plates clatter at random, half of them locking and prepping for impact, the other half flaring and ready to evade.

Steve makes a noise like he’s coming apart.

“I think about you all the time,” he says. “Sometimes, I can’t breathe, I want you so much.”

“Sap,” Bucky says, but there’s no heat behind it. Christ, Steve is beautiful. Bucky could pet down every inch of him, lick up his sweat, and he’d still never have enough.

“And I want to touch you,” Steve   

“Where?” Bucky asks.

“Everywhere,” Steve’s voice is guttural and explosive. “I want to put my hands all over you. I want to make you come on my fingers. I want to suck you till you scream.”

Another roil of hot blood rushes down his front. Bucky’s fingers hook instinctively into his waistband, tugging the tight fabric away from his body.

“If you’re good,” he gasps. “We can try.”

The rocking’s getting more desperate now. Violent. Steve’s eyes are glued to the front of Bucky’s jeans like he’s ready to start drooling.

“Anything you want,” Steve promises. “Anything you need. I want to give it to you so bad, all the time, you have no idea.”

“If I wanted to come all over your tits?”

“Fuck yes!”

“If I wanted to bite them until they’re sore?”

Steve rises up so high the toy nearly slips all the way out of him. He whines and drops back down on it hard.

“I can take it,” he promises.

“If I told you to ride me twice as hard as that, and I ruin it when you come?”

“Anything!”

Bucky pops the top button to his jeans. His thighs clench and he can’t help but shiver when he dips his fingers inside. Steve comes absolutely unglued.

“Bucky, oh god, c’mon, oh please…” His whole body is starting to tremble, so hard his teeth are chattering together.

“Are you close?” Bucky asks.

“Yes,” Steve sobs.

“Count it.”

Bucky kicks off his shoes and piles on the bed behind Steve, braces his knees on either side so Steve can no longer rock so far forward.

“No, no, no, goddamn it!” he wails.

“Count it.”

“ _Six_!  Christ!”

Steve fists his hands in his hair and pulls hard. Too hard. Bucky grabs his wrists and tugs them away, shushing him softly.

“Hey, hey, hey, I got you,” he soothes. “You with me?”

Steve’s shoulders heave and he slumps against Bucky’s chest. His eyes are barely open, half-lidded blue slits.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m good. I just. Fuck.”

He’s so, so shaky and warm. Bucky snuggles him tight up near his heart.

“One more,” Bucky says. “Gonna take you up one more time, okay?  Then if you hold out, I’ll give you one of the real good ones. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve whispers back.  

“Good. Let me look at you.”

He tips Steve to the side and just holds him for a while, cradled in his soft right arm. Steve’s lips are flecked with foam and sweat. He bends down to lick them clean, and Steve kisses back like he’s dying.

"You ready for your surprise now?” Bucky asks.

Steve’s forehead wrinkles hard enough he could be one of the icons on Bucky’s phone.

“Thought I already got it?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“That was the present. _This_ is the surprise.”

He draws his metal hand down Steve’s torso slowly, telegraphing the motion, and takes hold of the toy still inside him. Searches for the discrete button that turns the vibe function on.

Steve’s arms flail out and catch Bucky in the shoulder, slide down along his metal arm. The plates compress and bounce back under his superhuman grip.

“What the hell,” Steve gasps, but his expression is rapturous. “I love you. What the hell.”

“Happy birthday,” Bucky hums. “You had it on the list.” God, the vibe must be powerful. He can feel it thrumming through his thigh.

Steve whimpers and jerks his hips in an erratic rhythm, so tense he can’t even keep up a good thrust. His head lolls back against Bucky’s shoulder.

“You like that?”

Steve nods in big exaggerated swoops. He looks like he’s smiling too hard to speak.

“That’s it,” Bucky whispers to him. “Gonna get you so close. Gonna make you fly.”

“It’s so…” Steve trails off into a nonsense noise. His feet keep scrabbling to brace on the bed but one of his hands is still riding on Bucky’s adamantium bicep. Like he can’t tell if he wants to cling closer or squirm away. He’s gone completely uncoordinated.

Bucky hums and keeps stroking Steve up and down very carefully with his metal hand. It’s not going to take any time at all to push him right back up to the edge. Thick globs of cum are already beading at the head of his cock and he cannot wait to taste it.

“Mm,” he says to draw Steve’s attention, and touches the tip with a gloved finger to collect it. Steve wails as he pulls back too fast for Steve to grind on it.

“Could eat you up right now,” he says, licking his glove clean. “You’re so sweet.”

Steve cries out and thrusts up with his entire body.

“Buck, oh my god, please - ”

“Are you close?”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s arm so hard the plates screech together.

“Yes, please, I can’t --”

“You can,” Bucky tells him. “Count it.”

Another fat drop of come spurts out of his cock. Steve makes an aborted grab for it and sobs.

"I can’t I can’t I can’t -”

“Count. It.”

Steve screams.

“Seven!”

Steve thrashes his head back and forth, no longer processing how to make it stop. Bucky lifts him quick and switches the vibe off, giving him at least some relief. Steve trembles in his lap, gulping in air.

“Good, sugar, you were so, so good for me,” Bucky tells him. He presses a kiss between Steve’s eyes. “You okay in there?”

Steve groans and nods, still clearly not tracking. He flops a hand down to his lower belly and whimpers. Bucky grins.

“So sore up in here,” Bucky teases. He covers Steve’s limp hand with his own, enjoying the way he rucks up against the weight. “You’re hurting for it, ain’t you?  Balls so blue they’re gonna drop off.”

“That’s a myth,” Steve slurs, but he doesn’t protest the massage. Bucky kisses his forehead again.

“You up for one more?” he asks. “You were so good. You want me to make you come?”

Steve nods like he’s sloppy drunk, more rolling his head around and around than up and down. Maybe he kind of is.

“Want you in me,” he mumbles.

Bucky nibbles along Steve’s hairline, drinking in the salt of his sweat.

“Wasn’t the deal, sugar,” he says. God, he loves it when Steve’s this exhausted. He doesn’t care about pet names, he doesn’t care about being held. “I think you’re getting either or. You want to come tonight, or you want me to fuck you?  You get to choose. How much do you want me --”

“Yellow,” Steve says.

 Bucky freezes and takes his hands off as much as he can manage. Steve is still lying across his lap, and he doesn’t want to jostle him too suddenly with the toy still in him, but he needs to give him space.

“You okay?” he squeaks.

Steve swallows hard.

“Please don’t make me choose,” he says. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. But don’t - I just don’t want to choose.”

The arm ripples over and over, cycling down his panic as he takes more slow deep breaths.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Steve says.

“Can I touch you again?”

Steve reaches up to take Bucky’s metal hand. He brings it to his mouth and folds a kiss into the palm.

They sit together a few more breaths, long enough for Steve to start squirming again.

“You still want me to make you come?” Bucky asks.  

“More than anything,” Steve admits.

Bucky can feel the grin splitting face.

“I think we can make that work.”  

He nudges Steve to his knees long enough to get the lube and a fresh set of gloves, just in case. Slides his slicked fingers down Steve’s crack and gives the toy a tug. Steve sways and nearly topples over as each round nub pops out. His cock twitches hard between his legs.

Bucky takes a deep breath and lays down on the mattress, reaches up for Steve to crawl over him.

“C’mere,” he says. “Lemme give you what you need.”

Steve straddles his chest and braces his hands to either side of Bucky’s head. There’s a moment -- lights and faces hanging overhead, he feels his chest start to seize up -- but it passes. It’s a good day, and this face is Steve, and he wants to give Steve this with all his heart.

“If we’re real careful,” he tells Steve. “I can be in you.”

He reaches up with his metal hand and locks three fingers straight.

Steve makes a broken noise and sinks down onto them, slack-jaw stunned. He looks like someone’s sucker punched him. 

"You sure?” he rasps.

Bucky snorts. “I’m in you three deep.”

“If you’re _sure_ ,” Steve says again, because he’s obnoxious like that.

“I’m sure.” He’d be less sure if he weren’t wearing two pairs of gloves, or if Steve weren’t already ready to blow -- the plates make him nervous, there’s always the chance they could pinch or press too hard. “You ride me however you want me. Here -”

He grabs one of Steve’s hands and guides it to his metal wrist, encourages him to grip it tight. “Move me wherever you want.”

“Deeper,” Steve begs immediately, tugging at Bucky’s wrist. Bucky clasps Steve’s hip with his other hand, helps him lift so he slide up and down. He can’t feel heat through the plates or moisture or the finest details of texture, but he watches Steve’s head tip back and his thighs rock forward, and he figures they’re doing just fine.

“You want me to touch you?” he asks, brushing his soft knuckles beneath Steve’s cock. Steve cries out but shakes his head.

“I can do it,” he insists. “I can do it, I can do it -”

A long stream of come spatters out on Bucky’s chest and he puts everything he has into holding those fingers steady.  

“Come on,” he growls. “Come for me, gimme one of the good ones.”

Steve’s voice is barely recognizable, breathy and broken. He’s mouthing something that sounds like Bucky’s name.

“You’re so ready,” Bucky tells him. “Been saving it up just for me, yeah?  You want me to make you come?”

“Yesyesyesyes,” Steve chants, all one word like a curse. Or a prayer. Bucky growls and squeezes Steve’s swollen balls.

“Come for me, come all over me.”

And the good thing about Steve being on top of him - he sees the exact moment that Steve starts to come, how his eyebrows go up and his jaw goes slack and everything he carries with him just lets go. Erases. Hot come hits Bucky’s belly and it keeps coming in a long slow spray. Almost thirty seconds, the longest they’ve ever milked for.

The noises Steve makes could fuel him forever.

“There you go,” Bucky purrs. “I got you. You’re so good.”

He flings his right hand up to catch Steve as he falls, holds him up just long enough to work his metal fingers out of his ass. When he comes like this Steve gets the shakes all over; he can’t always keep himself up.

“Thank you,” Steve sighs. He collapses half on Bucky’s chest, boneless and definitely, definitely shaking. “Oh my god. I can’t feel my face.”

Bucky kisses his cheek. “That a good thing?”

“Very, very good thing,” Steve mumbles. “Nng.”

Steve folds up into his arms like a ridiculous plus-sized teddy bear.

“Need to get you some water,” Bucky reminds him. Steve makes a noise that doesn’t remotely count as language.

Bucky laughs and squirms until he can tuck Steve in his arms. It’s the only time he’ll get away with this, so he might as well make it count. He grunts and gives a good old heave-ho and lifts Steve into his arms bridal style.

“At least I’m gonna bring the horse to the water. You decide yourself if you’re gonna drink,” he informs Steve. He grunts and shifts Steve a little higher on his right shoulder. “Jesus. You are a horse. What do they feed you up there?”

“Mayo-neighs,” Steve mumbles sleepily.

“I am going to fucking drop you,” Bucky shoots back. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

He carries Steve over to the minifridge anyway, sits down on the floor still cuddling him in his lap. He manages to flick his gloves into the trash before he pulls out their food.

“Orange drink and cold meatballs,” he says. He rubs at his disheveled cloud of hair. “I suppose other people believe in classy dates.”

“Yes,” Steve smiles. “Guess we just got lucky.”

 

\------

 

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Bucky (like myself) is a stone top; he finds it a turn-off (sometimes a deeply uncomfortable one) to have a partner touch him sexually during a scene. In this setting, Steve is aware of Bucky's preference but it's still occasionally difficult for him to deal with emotionally. Rest assured that they have talked this all out, and both partners consent to the edging they do :)
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at [buckyballbearing](http://buckyballbearing.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Light 'em up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767113) by [sallysparrow017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallysparrow017/pseuds/sallysparrow017)




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